A third set of footprints
by pennydoesdropzone
Summary: Harry walks in the footsteps of Tom who walked in the footsteps of Albus touching a part of Hogwarts few have ever known about.


J.K. is the man.

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The air was cold…in this part of the castle. It sounded as if there was a waterfall behind the far wall…or a burst pipe. He shivered, longing to light a fire in one of the many heaths that were hidden at the ends of these long dark isle. This part of the restricted section was hard to get access too. He had seen it on the Marauders map a year ago and had looked for it at the very back of the library. There was a disillusioning charm cushioned between shelves at the back and beneath that a small oak door. Madam Pince carried the keys with her at all times and if it wasn't for a Weasley twin distraction he would never have gotten her out of her robes and away from them long enough to make the switch.

A thick silence haunted this place. Several chills frequented Harry's spine. It was as if someone was following him...or was it him following someone? His heart was producing an odd sensation, letting something loose in his blood that was unknown. A longing. A caution. A hope. A dread. All at once. It was as if the books were sirens singing to him and he knew it. The carpet was an inch of dust with only two sets of footprints stalking between the shelves each on a different mission and the odd missing book here and there. As he sneaked in between the isles he often met these tracks. His wand was raised high; his eyes squinting at the worn titles on abused spines and then again at the footprints in the dust. Harry walked silently through this forgotten library. He hadn't seen a title he could read. It was all in some archaic form of English.

He had had trouble sleeping; another nightmare involving a dead Cedric. This was his last night at Hogwarts. Everything in his heart told Harry he had to protect himself. What if Voldermort pitched paid a visit to his aunt and uncle before he got back? So many what if's and as if that wasn't enough there was the reasonable restriction of underage magic to worry about. It was bloody ridiculous to be subjected to such a stupid law given the circumstances. Harry had hoped he might find something here to side step that law, having searched the whole library in second and third year after the dobby-cake incident. Hermione had refused to help; Ron had given up after the second shelf. Wizard law was a boring mess of endless revisions. Counter charms were difficult to get one's head around, were temperamental and his wand seemed to have a particular dislike of them. His scar prickled as his elbow brushed against a huge black volume that stuck out oddly from among its identical brothers. These books were like gravity or like a pretty girl he was too intimidated to talk to. Which was it? Harry's hand pushed the book into the shelf so that it was level with the others. His heart skipping several beats as some unknown electric surge jumped from his finger tips into his head and settled behind the eyes. This one was special. So familiar, it reminded him of...

There was a scuffle and a meow. Harry dimmed his wand and pressed his back to a shelf. He dimmed his wand. Filch. He pulled up the hood of the invisibility cloak and walked to the end of this row of books. It was impossible to hear footsteps falling in this stuffy dusty room. There were still an unknown collection of rows of shelving to this part of the library; he had only walked through five thus far, but it was time to go back. Filche's lamp sent long shadows against the far wall as he passed Harry peering worriedly into the dark vault ahead. The man seemed more than spooked; his cat kept to his heals.

He had to make it to the door as fast as he could. He had to get the knowledge he needed. Desperately he turned to face the shelves he had been scouring.

"Acio book!" He muttered when Flinch had passed twenty or so shelves along. The thick air hiding his voice.

He waited. His wand still raised. Sighed. And as he turned down the passage to tip toe to the doorway something bumped gently against his head. His hand clamped onto the spine. Norris hissed. He didn't look at it till he was safely back in the common room. Forty-eight past one. The fire burnt low. The book was old and written in that strange language. Its pages were brown with age. He stared at it. His stomach knotted. He would need to find a way to read it...however he wished it had been the huge black volume instead. This particular book made his heart feel like it was bleeding. It didn't give the thrill; there was no stream of electricity running into his body as he brushed its cover. Running his fingers along this book felt like running them along the edge of a sharp knife. Not pleasant. Not unpleasant.


End file.
